n8 THE GARDEN OF A 



not entirely satisfied, and sent us in irreproachable 

 poached eggs, and the dish of toasted bacon that to- 

 gether with kidneys always makes us forget her 

 shortcomings in coffee, and the awful duck-on-a-rock 

 bread she perpetrates. This bread is of the consis- 

 tency of clay, and is called a " cottage loaf." You 

 can't slice it ; the native whittles it up with his knife 

 as one does a pencil. At present we live on toast, 

 the basis supplied by an itinerant baker. Later, I 

 shall doubtless get up my courage to ask her to take 

 lessons of Mrs. Mullins, an old ex-cook. 



The commuter's wife should have a hen rampant 

 as her coat of arms, and adopt it as her patron saint. 

 I swear daily gratitude to this commonplace and song- 

 less bird, for, given eggs, my household need not 

 go breakfastless either to town or to hospital. Both 

 father and Evan are not only satisfied but eager 

 ,for eggs at breakfast and other odd times. They 

 may be cooked in any of a dozen ways, or at a pinch 

 not cooked at all, but shaken up in a deft way with a 

 few other ingredients. If a man regards eggs seri- 

 ously, there is no need for him to run to the train 

 breakfastless, leaving wife or maids in a state of ex- 

 haustion, one having stayed awake half the night to 

 wake the other. A late unsavory breakfast is never 

 pardonable, for fruit needs no cooking, and good cof 



